Another song without a decent video. I could have had all the covers I wanted of this–even one by Duran Duran (huh?). I could have even had a live Dylan version taken with someone’s cell phone camera, but Dylan sounded much too pissed off. A more authentic Dylan experience, I’m sure, but then it wouldn’t have reminded me of summers in front of the Antiquarium in the Old Market during the 1980s.
I was in my 20s, in college, and my hangout off-campus was the Antiquarium, a used bookstore in the Old Market. Blame Dave Sink for hooking me on the place, not that I would have needed much help. Dave was an editor at the late Sun papers, and he was teaching a reporting class. He talked about the bookstore quite a bit. I eventually checked the place out and immediately knew I found a second home. Used books, used records, a place to sit and talk, and some interesting (sometimes odd would have been a better word) people to talk to–what’s not to love?
The entire place deserves a few posts of its own, but right now, I’m thinking of summer nights in the Old Market. Back then, the bookstore had official hours, but especially on Fridays and Saturdays, the store would be open way into the early hours. Often, the talk and the Scrabble games would move outside. There was a wide sidewalk, large cement stoops for sitting, and later a wooden bench.
Dave played guitar and sang. He loved Bob Dylan, loved imitating Dylan, and no summer night set was complete without a couple of Dylan songs. This was my favorite one, I think. This might have also been the song that earned Dave his first (and last!) money as a musician when he left his hat on the sidewalk and a passer-by dropped in a buck.
The bookstore is gone, the 80s are long gone, and summers are lost to work and responsibility, but I miss those days.